


The Quiet

by PrintDust



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrintDust/pseuds/PrintDust





	The Quiet

She glanced at the clock again to find that less than a minute had passed since she's last checked the time. He was late, again. Sighing, she traced her fingers over the thin rim of her wine glass and got to her feet. The room was buzzing a little and she rested her fingers on her flushed, warm cheek – red wine went straight to her head, and he complained every time she ordered it.

Scoffing, she tipped the last of the wine into her glass then discarded the bottle next to the sink. Her glass in hand, she wandered the quiet halls of their home, her sock-clad feet brushing over the living room rug, then the one in the hallway that ended at Carl's bedroom. Holding her breath, she touched the antique pewter knob and turned it, pushing the door open.

The room was bright in the high light of the moon. Leaning against the door jam, she watched her son, resting on his back with one arm folded under his head. He'd tossed his pillow onto the floor and she sighed, stepping into the room. Her head swam when she bent down to retrieve the pillow, and she pitched forward a little when she straightened up.

The wine in her glass sloshed and she cursed under her breath, setting it down on the dresser while steadying herself in the same movement.

Carl turned over, his eyelids flickering in his sleep. She froze, and waited, holding her breath. When he didn't wake she breathed out slowly, and then tossed the pillow in her hand onto the rocking chair in the corner of the room.

Turning back to Carl she stepped closer to his bed. She found the edge of his blanket and pulled it up to cover his shoulders, leaning over to press a kiss to the spot over his ear. "I love you, baby," she whispered into his hair.

Lori was just collecting her glass when the alarm beeped and she heard the front door open. The hall light flicked on and she winced, glancing back at Carl and the beam of light that flashed and settled over his face. His nose scrunched and he flipped over again, turning his back to the room.

Moving quickly, she stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her – finding herself in the hallway, facing her husband who was slipping off his boots at the other end of it. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the wall watching him. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" she asked.

Rick paused and looked up at her, his eyes settling on the glass in her hand. His jaw ticked and he shook his head lightly before going back to untying his boots. She scoffed at his wordless reaction and pushed off the wall before sauntering back into the kitchen where she'd wrapped up his dinner.

She watched the plate turn in the microwave, leaning against the counter, her head resting against her shoulder. His keys landed on the counter over her shoulder and she turned around to find him half-sitting on the table, stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt.

"Happy birthday," she muttered, punching the button on the microwave to pop the door open. The meal was still only lukewarm, the gravy still thick and congealed, but she shrugged and lifted it out anyway, taking a moment to collect cutlery from the drying rack on her way over to the table.

"Thank you," Rick answered, watching her carefully, studying her profile as she set the table for him. "Look, Lori. I wou-," he began, running his hand through his hair.

The look she sent him was scathing, and it silenced him before her words could. "Save it, Rick. It's your birthday; you do what you want with it."

Using her foot she pulled out his seat for him and went back over to the fridge. In her periphery she could see him still standing, his hands settling on his hips as his head dropped forward and he sighed.

"You think I'd rather be dealing with a four car pile-up than be at home with my wife? My son?" he asked, his tone stretched thin with impatience. "Is that what you think?"

Lori ignored him and grabbed a knife from the block on the counter. She stared at the cake that she and Carl had spent the morning baking, her eyes sweeping over the missing section that only served to remind her of her son's disappointed face as she'd served it to him earlier. Quickly, she cut another slice and transferred it onto a dessert plate, using her fingers to steady it. On her way past her husband and out of the kitchen she dropped the cake onto the table next to his dinner, the ceramic landing on the wooden surface with a dull thud.

In the bedroom she exchanged her shorts and tank-top for a nighty that was actually a worn Kentucky University Wildcats shirt that she's purloined from Rick years before. It was ratty and worn so thin that it was bald in some parts and splattered with the paint from Carl's nursery in others. Flicking off the bedroom light she slipped under the covers, turning her back to Rick's side of the bed.

In the dark, she stared at the fireplace, torn between guilt for giving him a hard time on his birthday, and anger that hadn't quite yet dissipated. She took deep breaths to quell the emotions that set her ever last nerve on edge.

She was still awake when he came to the doorway and hesitated, and she flicked her eyes towards him.

"Am I sleeping in here tonight?" he asked, scratching the back of his calf with his foot.

Lori sighed, nodding. He must have caught the movement in the dark because he stepped into the room slowly, as though he was making his way across a minefield.

She rolled over onto her back, her head finding the centre of her pillow. He cleared his throat and nodded, getting into bed beside her, his posture mimicking hers.

They both stared at the ceiling, the room tense and uncomfortable.

"Was it people from town?" she asked the ceiling.

He turned to look at her, draping his arm over his face.

"The wreck," she clarified, turning onto her side in time to catch his nod. Reaching out she splayed her hand over the surface of his chest, the last of her anger dissolving into concern. "Who?"

"June Wilson," he answered, his hand coming to rest on top of hers. "And the Peters… Margret didn't make it … the others we don't know."

Lori gasped. "The baby?"

"With a sitter…" his hand tightened around hers, gripping it. "I just keep thinking about her growing up without a mama… and then I got to thinking about Carl and I just… I couldn't come home to you like that. I took a drive to clear my head."

"It's okay," she whispered, moving over to his side, her head finding his shoulder. His arm lifted to accommodate her and wrapped around her, securing her to him.

Rick swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

Lori frowned, reaching up to touch his face. "I know that you feel like it wasn't enough," she acknowledged, her lips finding the part of his hand where his thumb sloped into his wrist. "But, baby, I know you did everything you could."

When he nodded she could see the tears flash in his eyes before they dried up like concrete, hardening his stare. "Speak to me?" she requested. "Tell me…"

He closed his eyes without answering her, his fingers brushing over the small of her back, sliding her shirt up until it was bunched around her waist. He stroked her skin, tracing the shape of her hip, then skirting over her abdomen before he stopped, his hand splayed over the flat plain of her stomach.

"Lori, I just – I love you, okay?" he finally said. "Can't that just be enough?"

She wanted to shake her head, tell him that it wasn't. That it wasn't enough anymore because the silence was caging her in, suffocating her. She wanted him to speak to her, to let her in – to let her know him again. She wanted him to talk to her so that she could answer him; she wanted him to listen to her.

Instead, she nodded, kissing his arm one more time before untangling from his arms and slipping out of bed. She adjusted her shirt, pulling it back down over her nude bottom. "I should put everything away in the kitchen," she told him, plastering a smile on her face. "I'll just be a minute."

He nodded, and she was sure that she caught a look of relief on his face as she left the room.

In the kitchen she lowered herself into his spot at the table, burying her face in her hands as she listened to the quiet house.


End file.
